


the cowboy who loved me

by downamongthedeadmen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: @jeff kaplan where the FUCX is the mccree waiter skin, Blackwatch, M/M, Retribution Event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downamongthedeadmen/pseuds/downamongthedeadmen
Summary: "Please, don't kill Jesse," Reyes mutters in Genji's ear. "I don't know what you did, but his heart rate just spiked.""Or, if you do kill Jesse," Moira suggests in his other ear, "please note the manner in which he died, and forward me your findings."





	the cowboy who loved me

**Author's Note:**

> \+ brackets around dialogue indicate [italian] is being spoken

**[LOG: 15 APRIL 2069, 18:30]**

Genji pockets the burner phone and drums his camouflaged fingers on the table. From where he's seated, McCree seems to be barely holding it together. His left eye has been twitching for the last fifteen minutes and his grin, which originally had been rather friendly, now looks slightly unhinged.

He should be grateful, because Genji's the one who's really suffering: Indigestion, restlessness, and outright boredom. McCree doesn't have to do anything except be discreet (failing) and serve customers (poorly). 

Genji's phone lights up in his jacket pocket again and he slides it out just enough to confirm that it's Angela calling. Genji mouths _Reyes_ to McCree, who he's just noticed has been staring hopefully in his direction for an unknown amount of time. When he raises a brow, McCree glances away. "Yes?"

" _Be careful of the bigoli_ ," Angela says. He can just picture her frantically tapping away, phone snug between her cheek and shoulder as she cross-references the Osteria Dei Mascalzoni's menu with the dietary planner she'd given Genji. The same dietary planner he'd deleted the second it arrived in his inbox. " _Theirs is whole wheat._ "

Genji stares at the empty bread basket in front of him. "Remind me: What happens if I have whole wheat?" he asks, casual.

Angela sighs, low and suffering. He's texted her for the past half hour on food recommendations and has been more or less repeating the same questions over and over. " _You're on a low residue diet, Genji. This pasta is high in fiber, which is difficult for you to digest._ "

McCree is smiling blandly at an elderly couple arguing on what to order for their appetizers. His eyes are screaming for release. Genji says, "Ah." 

" _You'd be stuck in the bathroom all night, which isn't conducive to a stakeout_."

"Have you done stakeouts before? I'd prefer to shit myself for hours."

Angela cracks up despite herself. Genji hears her shift the phone to her other ear. " _That a serious question? I used to accompany you before_ she _was cleared for active duty._ " _She_ being, of course, Moira O'Deorain. The good doctor is still sore on Reyes permanently benching her from Blackwatch activities. It is a point of contention for her, but something of a joke among Overwatch agents: She and Captain Amari were always stretched thin and they desperately needed another medic to lift some of the burden from their capable shoulders. Now that they have Moira, Angela can't help but find every fault with her.

Genji fondly recalls the previous week's send-off to Venice.

> "Be well, Genji," Angela says, sliding his headpiece off for a minute to smooth back his hair. It immediately reverts to its typical mess, but the thought is appreciated. Her brows knit worriedly. "Call me if you have any questions, alright?"
> 
> "I will," Genji promises, the corner of his mouth turning up beneath his mask. He does not point out that Moira has his case file.
> 
> "Keep everyone safe." Angela stretches up on her toes to swiftly press a kiss to McCree's cheek. They've been friends since they were seventeen, and treat each other like precious siblings -- Genji thinks, anyway. He doesn't have much to compare to. McCree gives Angela a lazy salute and a grin. 
> 
> Moira's smirk vanishes when Angela pointedly walks by her to hug Reyes -- Reyes, who was facing away to converse with Morrison and definitely not expecting an embrace. His eyes widen comically and he battles the urge to laugh at Moira's face. He looks to Morrison for help, but the Strike-Commander is busy snickering at his mission report. Reyes awkwardly pats Angela on the back and coughs, "We'll be fine, doc. You and Ana could use a break from us."
> 
> "If they die on your watch," Angela says to Moira, "I will find you."
> 
> Moira grins. "If they die on my watch," she replies, "you will never find them."
> 
> Morrison's head jolts up to shoot Reyes a look of alarm. "That's funny, real funny. Everyone on the shuttle," says Reyes hastily, still patting Angela and gently trying to pry her off him like a child who doesn't want to let go of a parent.
> 
> As they buckle in for liftoff, Genji learns that McCree is equally, if not _more_ dismayed at Moira accompanying them from now on. "Do you even have a license to practice medicine?" he asks, taking his seat. "I know y'all have, like, eight Ph.Ds or whatever, but that ain't the same as --"
> 
> "I know enough," and all the color drains from McCree's face.

''So, to clarify,'' says Genji, checking his watch to avoid making eye contact with an increasingly pissed off McCree, ''nothing on this menu will kill me?''

'' _Correct_ ,'' Angela says impatiently.

''That's disappointing.''

"'Scuse me, Signora! I forgot this man's water." McCree practically stomps over to Genji's table just as he hastily says, "Goodnight," and hangs up.

"Thought you were s'posed to be keeping a lookout, _partner_ ," McCree sighs, shaking a half-empty pitcher at him. A few of the top buttons on his clean dress shirt are unbuttoned, which is probably against the dress code.

Genji gestures to the large table reserved for their mark and his coterie. The bouquet artfully arranged on the table has a recorder hidden inside for Reyes to listen in. "Do you see anyone here? I don't."

"They're showin' up in the next minute or two," McCree mutters, "the least y'all could do is --"

"I," replies Genji, taking the entire pitcher from McCree's grasp, "am doing my job: Keeping an eye on you." He adjusts his glasses and looks at McCree expectantly.

McCree closes his eyes, lips pursed, cheeks flushed. "Hope you choke," he says, spinning on his heel with a tray tucked under his arm to attend to to other guests.

Genji pours a glass of water and laughs softly to himself.

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 15 APRIL 2069, 18:48]**

Three hours. He has three hours before the camo wears off. Genji pulls his phone out again to check his reflection with no small amount of anxiety. A young, fresh-faced Sojiro stares impassively back at him. 

Reyes gifted him a prototype nano-machine cloak that would hide his disfigured body and cybernetic enhancements. Gone are the red sunken eyes, scars and burn marks. His wires and plating are hidden behind a three-piece suit and digital skin. Even his hair is nicely combed and gelled, which prompted a look of near-approval from Moira and an amused chuckle from Reyes. "You look every bit the crime lord's son," he'd commented. "Think your dad would be proud of you now?"

Genji thought of his brother and said, "I hope not."

He watches the Osteria's door for Bartalotti's men. An omnic politely asks if he's been served already, to which Genji replies, "Actually, my waiter told me he would be back fifteen minutes ago. I hope the rest of the staff have better manners?" 

Shocked and incensed by the injustice of it all, the server vows to hunt down this rude server and bring him back. Genji tips him handsomely. 

"Can I help you, _Sig-yor-ray_?" McCree asks through gritted teeth upon dragging his feet back to Genji's table. "I'm tryin' to do my goddamn work, y'know." 

Genji makes a show of looking through the menu despite having memorized it word for word. He is not going to order until the coterie arrive, but he wants to bother McCree in the mean time. "Yes," he says calmly, twirling a butter knife between his fingers. McCree watches with an unreadable expression. "I think I'll order the risotto al nero di seppia after our guests arrive. What do you think?"

"I got maybe one word o' that." McCree frowns while his translator catches up. Between the four of them McCree's Italian is the worst, which is to say non-existent. He scrolls through his tablet and makes a face at the dish's photo. "'Squid ink risotto'? _Ugh_."

The waitstaff supervisor materializes from around the corner of the dining hall, staring daggers at McCree; the omnic server from before hovers close by with a clipboard. Genji inclines his head at McCree and taps his watch, mindful of its inner bomb. "You add maple syrup to grits," he points out.

"It needs flavorin'!" McCree, insulted, sulks back to the kitchen. 

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 15 APRIL 2069, 19:03]**

Talon, the most notorious terrorist group in the world, arrives fashionably late. Genji, from the most powerful "humanitarian" organization in the world, stands up and waves at them like an old friend. 

Antonio Bartalotti is their target, but the man is not here tonight as predicted. He's gone into hiding after the attack on the Oslo base. The five men who arrive at Genji's table know where he is, and by the end of dinner, so will Genji.

"[Ah, Mr. Morita!]" one of them says, leaning over to shake Genji's hand. Russo, he notes. Bartalotti's right-hand man. "[We apologize for running an hour behind. There were some things we had to attend to on short notice.]"

McCree politely waits for introductions to be over, eyes roaming from Talon mook to Talon mook as his mod deciphers their greetings. Genji declined the mod for himself. "[It's no trouble at all]," he says, smiling. McCree's eyes widen slightly. "[Forgive me, but I did some work of my own while waiting.]" He gestures to his tablet. 

Morita Takeo is a respected but feared _kumicho_ hailing from Yokohama. Three years ago he immigrated to Italy with the majority of his syndicate. He does not deal with drug or human trafficking, preferring the more charming business of _sōkaiya_ to target those wealthier than him. Humiliation and money: that's Morita's MO. And like Russo and his men, he is unscrupulous in every area of his life, as evidenced by the roguish wink he throws to McCree when the man tries to take everyone's orders. McCree goes red so fast that Genji hastily backpedals and instead asks about Russo's family. 

" _Please, don't kill Jesse_ ," Reyes mutters in Genji's ear. " _I don't know what you did, but his heart rate just spiked._ "

" _Or, if you do kill Jesse_ ," Moira suggests in his other ear, " _please note the manner in which he died, and forward me your findings."_

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 15 APRIL 2069, 20:01]**

Genji sorely misjudged just how much food they'd be having. He is used to hospital and military cafeteria proportions, when he actually bothers to eat, anyway. The antipasto alone quickly filled him up, he barely touched the soup, and he politely declined the pasta after citing a gluten allergy. Sadly, he was betrayed when the omnic server from before piped up that they have gluten free options and Genji, trying his best to be civil, eats it. (McCree apparently forgot about the gluten free menu which earned him such a harsh reprimand from the manager that he wilted from the sheer force of it.)

He feels like a year has passed when the table orders their main dishes, and spaces out when McCree dutifully reappears. He's having a hard time concentrating on the chatter around him. Genji, about to die and/or explode, decides to take on the squid ink risotto that he'd been looking forward to. One of Bartalotti's men happens to glance his way as he's enjoying it, and Genji makes eye contact. In mild horror, the Talon agent watches as Genji slowly brings a braised tentacle to his mouth, slicing it in half with sharp white teeth. The man visibly swallows.

" _Pretty sure I lost my appetite_ ," McCree tells him, sounding a little faint. " _I can't eat anythin' that looks like it'll rise up and kill me._ "

Genji regrets that he can't reply while seated at the table. He has an excellent joke about McCree's taste in lovers.

"I'd like more wine, please," he says when McCree passes by him. McCree sighs, does an about-face, and marches to the kitchen. If Genji were a nicer person, he'd feel bad about running McCree ragged when the restaurant is already understaffed, but he has to keep up appearances. He also not-so-secretly enjoys telling McCree what to do despite being the junior agent.

"[I find it odd they'd hire someone who can't speak Italian]," Russo notes to the table. Several of the men murmur their assent because they can't think for themselves. 

Genji has to force himself to sip at his glass. Did his dietary planner say anything about alcohol? Well, wine doesn't contain wheat, so he should be fine. Maybe. Except now he can't remember any of the other warnings that come with a low residue diet, and he's starting to feel a little sick. Maybe. "[He must have other uses.]" 

"[Clearly.]" Russo chuckles. "[Once we finish eating, Mr. Morita, we can discuss the possibilities of a partnership. Were you thinking of dessert?]"

Next time, Reyes can play the part of morally bankrupt customer. Supersoldiers might as well have two stomachs. "[In a bit. I'm a little stuffed at the moment]," Genji replies with a forced smile, relieved when McCree returns with an ice bucket of wine for the table. The Talon agents pay him no mind as he refills their glasses. Russo, meanwhile, looks thoughtful. He takes a quick peek at the nametag on McCree's shirt and says, "Joel," prompting McCree to glance at him. "Is there a reason you chose this wine for us?"

"'Course there is," says McCree, straightening immediately. Genji's frozen with a napkin to his mouth.

"Could you tell us about it? I am eager to hear your take on Turbiana." Russo smiles indulgently, and Genji glances to the rest of the guests. They all lean in closer to listen, curious. 

McCree clears his throat. He clasps his hands behind him and begins slowly circling the table as he speaks, as though he is lecturing them. 

"So gentlemen, as y'all know, this here wine comes from this particular region of Italy. I gotta admit, I was blown away looking at photos of the Veneto. _Gorgeous_. Where I'm from, the most excitin' plant life is whatever's growin' on roadkill." He inclines his head at the few sympathetic chuckles. "So yeah, not that pretty. When I moved here I wanted so bad to go to this lil town -- what's it called, Soave? Pardon the accent."

He smiles wistfully, and lifts up the Turbiana bottle near Genji's hand to study the label. "It's got _castles_. There're no castles in the States, y'know. I stood outside the city walls with my mouth open wide, probably near swallowed a fly.

"But uh, back to the wine -- I visited a winery later that had Trebbiano types. Never been to a winery. Never had anything richer than moonshine or whiskey. I paid for a bottle of this exact brand with half my rent money. Trebbiano di Lugana. Sat down at a table for one. Took a sip. And -- can I be real honest with you fellas?" 

McCree swallows suddenly and shields his eyes from view. Genji finds his resolve not to laugh tested by the reactions of the Talon agents, all of whom have expressions of aghast at this poor bastard who makes less in a year than they do in a day. Never had Venetian wine until recently? What sort of hovel did he crawl out of? 

Their lowly waiter pours himself a glass and delicately brings the rim close to his nose to inhale. The whole table, enraptured, waits intently for the verdict. They are tortured for a few more seconds when he comes around to Genji's chair, leaning his arm on the back of it and surveying them all with an almost _haughtiness_ in his posture. Genji has to rest his forearms on the table and twist around to see him, but he's already moved on and circling the agent seated close by. Genji peeks at Russo on his left and almost pays dearly for his curiosity when he sees the old man's laser-focused gaze on McCree, his hands pressed together as though in prayer and resting against his mouth. It's like he's watching his grandson perform the starring role in a play.

McCree takes a single drink. The restaurant's sounds are muted, as if all the dining hall has hushed to listen. His eyes slip closed again from an overwhelming wave of emotion as he lowers the glass and sighs, truly content. "Lemon colored. A real fresh, crisp aroma. Tastes like white peaches, the kinda fruit you want on a hot summer day. Makes you think of fields of flowers and that girl you been sweet on for years. Friends, Veneto wines are _unrivaled_ in their flavor."

One of the quieter agents, Battaglia, has tears shimmering in his eyes. Genji is going to lose it. He excuses himself to the restroom. 

_"I will be back in a few, gentlemen. I need to speak to the manager for a sec_ ," Genji hears via comm. He's bracing over the sink when McCree strolls into the room. Upon seeing Genji paler than usual, his smirk quickly morphs into a frown. "You alright?"

Genji busies himself with cleaning his immaculate glasses. "What was that?" he manages, not really in the mood to discuss his health. McCree shrugs innocently, and grins. "I've never heard _that_ story."

McCree winks. "I mean, I told similar sob stories before. I just adjust 'em for the audience." He narrows his eyes. "Speakin' of the audience..." 

He slides a phone across the marble sink to Genji. "Whose is this?" Genji asks. He flexes the fingers in his right hand and softly taps the screen with his index finger, downloading the information to his cerebral uplink. 

"Fontana. Russo's right-hand man." McCree adjusts his tie in the mirror, but to Genji's critical eye he's only making it worse. "Antonio's sick and on bed rest in his second favorite estate. Must've been all the murderin' he's done."

This is clearly Fontana's personal phone and not a burner. There are photos and messages from family, friends, and a notice reminding him that his medication is ready for pickup. Bartalotti isn't listed in the contacts by name, but Genji has studied enough code to single him out among the myriad of texts. He confirms McCree's findings, and then hands the phone back.

"Must be," Genji grunts. Well, this little act of theft narrows things down. Bartalotti has sixteen estates. "One more thing, McCree."

"Am I 'bout to hear praise from the ruthless ninja?" McCree nudges Genji's side, waggling his eyebrows. "I am, right?" 

Wrong. Genji says, "Fix your tie."

"Pardon?"

He crooks a finger indicating for McCree to lean in close, which he does, albeit suspiciously. "You're attracting attention," Genji says with an eye roll, straightening the tie for him. 

McCree just looks at him for a long moment. It is difficult to tell what he's thinking sometimes. Often his words and his true feelings are polar opposites of each other, which is frustrating. Genji prefers people who are straightforward. "Maybe I like the attention," McCree finally says, making a show of ruining his tidy hair with a few fluffs. When Genji turns back to give him a look, he catches a whiff of aftershave. It is just faint enough that one would have to move in closer to really appreciate the scent. Against all possible reason, he's a little hungry again.

Genji needs another bottle of wine. 

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 15 APRIL 2069, 20:53]**

"[...ita? My friend, are you alright?]" Russo ducks his head to meet Genji's eyes, but they're covered by the palm of his hand as he holds his forehead.

His skull feels like it weighs a ton. He hasn't been this dizzy since he'd started transcranial direct current stimulation. The dining hall is starting to sway, and every sound and smell makes his stomach churn. "[I think... I...]"

"[Poor man]," someone who isn't Russo replies. It's not Battaglia. He doesn't remember this voice. "[He must've drank too much.]"

"[It's a shame]," Russo continues, something off about his tone. Gone is the fatherly warmth, replaced with something cold and sinister. Genji peers under his fingers and sees Russo shake his sleeve back, the skin over his wrist flickering for a millisecond. "[I like them alert, but I wasn't sure how cutting-edge Overwatch's pet was."]

What? Genji winces when a freak migraine lances through his head, momentarily blinding him. Had there been something in the wine? There couldn't be. He's modded to detect poisons and deadly gases, and McCree had carefully watched all food and drink that had been prepared for their meal. Shit, was it the fucking bread rolls? 

No. He'd felt strange before he'd taken a single bite of food. What did...

He had exchanged a handshake with Russo. They'd used their right hands, as is customary. Genji rests his cheek on the cool table and stares blankly as Russo peels back his digital cloak to reveal an impressively enhanced arm of his own, complete with custom wiring and electroshock cores in his fingertips. 

Russo scoots his chair closer to Genji and rests a sympathetic palm on the back of his feverish neck, and Genji's cloak starts to malfunction. Rather than slide off his body like a blanket would, the camo sinks into Genji's skin, melds with his cybernetics, and 

there is

_no_

where am i? where is this?

commander?

m̵c̴c̶r̴e̷e̷?̷

w̸h̴e̸r̶e̴ ̸i̸s̴ ̷e̴v̵e

̵i̷t̵

h̵e̸l̶p̵ ̸  
̸h̶ e̸l̷p̸ ̶ m̵ e̷  
̶h̸

...  
.......

* * *

  

    
    
    WARNING: INTERNAL THREAT DETECTED  
    
    UNKNOWN VIRUS  
    
     > Conversion: 43.06%  
    
    /  
    
    ACTIVE: KUSANAGI PROTOCOL  
    
    > File corruption: 99.99999945%  
    
    STAND BY  
    
    /  
    
    ATTN: CMDR. REYES  
    
    > Send failure  
    
    ATTN: DR. ZIEGLER  
    
    > Send failure  
    
    ATTN: DR. O'DEORAIN  
    
    > Processing...  
    
    > Partial send complete  
    
    /  
    
    STAND BY FOR **[kill order]**  
    
    /  
    
    01101001 00100111 01101101 00100000 01110011 01110100 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100111 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110100 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100111 01101111 01110100 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101  
    
    /  
    
    COMMENCING SHUTDOWN OF ORGANIC S  
    
    
    
     N̵O̶
    
      
    
    COMMENCING SHUTDOWN OF ORGANI  
    
    
    
    S̴T̷O̶P̷ ̸S̸T̶O̵P̷ ̶S̸T̶O̴P̷ ̴S̶T̵O̴P̷S̶T̴O̶P̶S̵T̵O̴P
    
      
    
    /  
    
    SCANNING...  
    
    /  
    
    > Conversion: 85.4444443%  
    
    > Remaining nan472839920132752785259524191367/  
    
    476298342659236139  
    
    017315917869153953  
    
    RT5DL1HG205401K5FT  
    
    / Force repair underway  
    
    /  
    
    SCANNING...  
    
    SCANNING...  
    
    /  
    
    ACTIVE: KUSANAGI PROTOCOL  
    
    /  
    
    WARNING: EXTERNAL THREAT DETECTED  
    
    /  
    
    SUSTAINED INJURY: MINOR BLUNT-FORCE TRAUMA  
    
    LOCATION: CRANIUM  
    
    SOURCE: TRAY, SERVING  
    
    ASSAILANT: McCREE, J // AFFILIATION: BLACKWATCH  
    
    Correcting injury... Complete  
    
    /  
    
    Systems check...  
    
    WARNING: INTERNAL THREAT STILL PRESENT  
    
    > bring me back online you [REDACTED]

  


* * *

  


Genji heaves on the floor of the dining hall, desperately gasping air into his screaming lungs. His head feels like it's been caved in. He's also, mysteriously, covered in salad.

The restaurant is in an utter state of chaos: Shrieking patrons are climbing out of (first-story, thankfully) windows and shoving each other out of the way toward the exit. _So much for being discreet_. 

Genji drags himself up by his shaking hands and stares at the empty seats of his table. Well, most of them are empty: Battaglia is slumped forward with his head in his plate. He's still alive, Genji discovers, just unconscious and bound with hard light cuffs. Police won't be able to extract him without the technology. 

"McCree?" Genji calls hoarsely. His communicator is broken and he can barely hear himself over all the yelling and furniture being thrown to the side. A prickling in his brain tells him Reyes is trying to reestablish a connection, but something is blocking him.

" -- gonna fire me 'cause I attacked a customer? Fine, but what about the TERRORISTS, SIGNORE?"

"McCree!"

McCree whips around, jaw dropping, relief shining in his eyes. Genji is disturbed by the blood on his dress shirt, but it doesn't appear to be his own. McCree ignores his indignant supervisor and rushes to Genji's side, helping him sit against a table leg. "What happened?" Genji groans, head swimming. 

"Russo and three others escaped when I knocked you out, but I managed to get one of 'em. He begged for his life --" and he nods at Battaglia. "I -- hold up." McCree digs a handkerchief from his apron pocket and wipes at some olive oil on Genji's cheek. Were Genji's right arm responding to his demands, he'd wipe his own face. Instead, he allows this indignity to continue. "I called Reyes. They won't get far, but we need to help track them down."

"Why did you knock me out?" Genji asks, swaying where he sits. He has to hold his chin with his left hand and manually turn to look at an abandoned serving tray lying where he'd woken up. Some of the heaviness can be explained by the reappearance of his cranial wires. One of his eyes flickers like a dying light bulb as he tries to tie the wires up with one hand.

McCree looks pained as he glances to the exit. He obviously wants to disappear after Talon, but Genji finds enough strength to squeeze his wrist. Any harder and he is in danger of breaking bones. "Um... I thought it might... wake you up."

"What?" Perhaps Genji's hearing isn't fully restored yet.

"I _thought_ ," McCree repeats loudly, "it'd, like." He exhales. "Reset you. Look, your eyes were all white and freakin' me out --"

"You _hit me when I was dying_!" Genji's voice doesn't go shrill when he's upset; it deepens, gets rougher and more modulated. McCree covers his face with one hand as if to shield himself from flying sparks. 

He groans, "I panicked! I'm no doc, but sometimes if you knock a cyborg who's brainwashed or hacked on his head he'll come back on!"

"How the fuck did you come to this conclusion?" 

"Saw it in a movie," McCree admits. Genji gapes at him. "Can we get goin', or do you wanna scream at me in the parkin' lot next?"

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 15 APRIL 2069, 22:32]**

On the way out the Osteria, McCree injects Genji's spinal implant with a substance that temporarily disables the virus, using a syringe gun designed by Amari. Genji's knees give out and he's almost trampled under a terrified couple racing to their car. McCree quickly hauls him out of the line of fire. "Angie uses this thing on you?" he demands, propping Genji back on his feet with a worrying lack of effort. "Shit, I'd rather be out first."

"If you'd like, I can do that for you." Genji blinks rapidly to dispel the diagnostics scrolling past his vision.

McCree snorts. He loosens his collar and draws Peacekeeper out of -- somewhere. "Hit me later, sweetheart. Let's catch these fuckers." 

They chase Fontana and Moretti through the streets. There's no sign of Russo and his other companion, but Genji is confident they'll be eliminated before the night is over. It's either that or Reyes bans them from sting operations, which would just crush McCree's spirit. He loves playing good cop, bad cop.

Unfortunately for Genji, Reyes explicitly prohibited him from smuggling his sword into the restaurant, and it was very difficult not to sound like a crybaby when he pointed out that McCree could bring _his_ weapon. "Where the fuck you gonna hide a shiny dragon sword?" McCree had laughed. "Up your ass? Naw, wait, gotta take the stick out first." 

(Reyes said nothing about the shuriken, though. The infinite, _auto-reloading_ shuriken that rise from tiny ridges in his arm. McCree can keep his stupid gun.)

Fontana shoots at Genji from behind a market stall and ducks when he deflects it with his fist. He curses and aims for McCree as he's distracted by Moretti. The first shot misses; McCree rolls to the side as his communicator takes the bullet for him instead. The next couple of shots simply bounce off the bullet cloak over McCree's shirt, so Fontana wises up and tries his legs. McCree gasps and goes down on one knee when a round tears through his left knee. 

Moretti, invigorated by the sight of his weakened foe, keeps running. Fontana catches a shuriken in the throat while he's trying to reload and crumples in a bloody heap. Genji kicks his skull in for good measure.

McCree's teeth are bloody from having bitten his own tongue to keep from shouting. Beads of sweat break out on his brow as Genji kneels at his side. "Motherfuckin' piece of shit," he spits, trying to staunch the wound. 

Genji lays a hand on his thigh and quickly searches through McCree's apron pocket for the small medkit they'd brought along, but he doesn't see it. He tries to deactivate any cloaking device that's hiding it, but is distressed to find that the kit is simply gone. McCree won't meet his gaze. "Used the biotic field on a customer who'd been cut from a window shattering," McCree sighs. "But I still got your syringe."

"That won't work on you," Genji replies, soft. He shakes off his suit jacket and begins shredding it to create a makeshift dressing. "It's meant to interface with my body." 

"Well, look who's so important he's gotta have his own juice box." McCree's grin is pained and pink. 

All of Genji's global communication systems are shot to hell, and of course McCree's own comm is gone. There's no one to pick him up, and they can't go to the hospital. They're not supposed to be here. They're not even supposed to leave the Zürich base until the director releases them from lockdown. 

There are a few options, of course. Genji can threaten the nearest household into sheltering McCree until he locates the last three Talon agents. This isn't recommended for several reasons, most of them ending in "we'll have to deal with the family". He could also carry McCree back to the hotel and have Moira treat him and then chase after the agents, but that would take too much time. He could --

There are distant cries for help coming from the port. Screaming civilians equal Talon. HQ won't like collateral damage. McCree can still use his gun and if he dies then Angela can revive him in maybe eight to ten months. It checks out. 

Genji secures the dressing, plucks McCree off the ground, and hoists him over his shoulder.

"Jesus fuckin' --" McCree scrambles for purchase on Genji's back. He accidentally tugs on the cranial wires hanging loose from the back of Genji's implants, yanking his head back as the sharpest feedback pulses through his nervous system, scrambling his brain and igniting every cell in his body. Stars explode behind his eyelids when McCree grunts, "Quit bouncin' for a sec."

" _Bouncing_?"

"You do this thing where -- nevermind," McCree mutters. "Thought you was gonna leave me behind."

"I will next time," Genji lies. "I don't like dead weight."

"Yeah, you carry enough as it is," McCree snickers. The humor is lost on Genji.

There are sirens in the distance and a few bodies littering the boardwalk, still conscious. Genji very daintily drops McCree into a flower cart and drags the disoriented civilians to the nearby port authority's office, ignoring their bewildered questions and rushing back to McCree. He's got petals in his hair and his awful beard. They unfortunately mask the scent of his aftershave, which is the only benefit of carrying 82 kilograms of American cowboy around the streets of Venice. 

"Your ambulance is here," Genji jokes.

"Can I report him for bein' a dick?"

At least he can say he got some weight training while on the job. Genji's been eager to recover the muscle mass he'd lost during his long hospital stays. After a long stretch of silence, he says, "McCree, are you alri --"

He suddenly lurches forward from the surprise recoil of Peacekeeper being fired. There's a shout behind them and then the sound of something heavy hitting the water. "Got you, you weaselly lil coward," McCree snarls.

Genji wheels around, forgetting for a moment that there is a person on his back who wouldn't appreciate the vertigo; he is correct when McCree groans pitifully. "Who was that?" Genji hisses. 

"It _was_ Moretti. Now he's -- haha -- sleepin' with the fishes." McCree weakly laughs at his own joke. It isn't as bad as Reyes snickering to himself this morning about the _steak_ out.

With Fontana and Moretti dead, that's two down. Three, if they count Battaglia, who is likely awake by now and unable to move until they secure him later. That leaves Russo and his silent assistant that Genji can't name.

Movement from the corner of his eye alerts Genji that someone is above them. He carefully shoves McCree into a collection of proud, well-manicured shrubs and flings three shuriken toward the shadow, but he misses by a hair. The man is simply gone. 

Was that -- are they on the roof of the bank? Genji squints. There is no way this nameless Talon agent is entirely human, which means Genji has some competition. "I have okay news and very bad news," says Genji. 

McCree grumpily lifts his head from the shrubbery. "What."

"The okay news: I recognize where we are, and I know how to get something for your leg while avoiding traffic." 

Flatly, McCree says, "And the very bad news?"

Genji replies a bit sheepishly, "We will have to take the rooftops."

"Oh no, I'll stay _right here_. You grab me some meds, and we'll finish the job together." McCree sinks back down stubbornly, crossing his arms. His legs stick out of the shrub.

"The roads are blocked by the police," says Genji, exasperated. He doesn't have time for this. "It will be difficult for me to take you without being seen. Either I leave you here at Talon's mercy, or we go together, kill this agent, and heal you." He'd like to heal McCree _first_ , but he can't be certain they won't lose the trail if they delay. And McCree, powered by spite, seems to be doing mostly fine for now.

Genji hears nothing but silence. He takes a step forward, and then another. The shrub does not look at him. He grins, tosses off his vest, and rolls up his sleeves. "Are you scared, McCree?"

"No! And I ain't going up on no rooftops!" McCree snaps heatedly. "Fuck you, Genji."

"Have it your way!" Genji responds, singsong. He begins scaling a charming brick facade. "You can bleed out on this bank's lawn, and I will get the credit for completing the mission."

" _Son of a fuckin' dragon ninja fuck motherfucker_ , get the fuck down here!"

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 16 APRIL 2069, 00:35]**

"I hate you," McCree grits out as Genji rejoins him inside the back of a pick-up truck in the pharmacy parking lot.

The wound is sealed and his pain is gone, but the bullet will need to be dealt with by a doctor. McCree doesn't sound like he's on the edge of death any more, and Genji is so very glad for that, yet all that comes out of his mouth is "Next time, protect your legs." 

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 16 APRIL 2069, 01:19]**

Russo is cornered on the bridge of a canal, his back to the water and hands up in the air. "What do you two want? Money? Land? I can pay you far better than Blackwatch ever will. I've no love for Antonio and his scheming. Let me go, and I'll tell you what you need to know about him."

"Funny, you were willin' to die for him earlier by attackin' my partner," McCree interjects. "Keep your blood money, and stand down."

Genji approaches Russo with the hard light cuffs as McCree trains his revolver squarely at the man's forehead. "You," Russo says quickly, staring at him Genji with pleading, manic eyes. "Why do you stay with them? What do you have to gain? Don't you miss the life of luxury you once had?"

McCree turns to look incredulously at Genji whose stomach twists in hot, painful knots. "Oh, yes," the agent continues glibly. "I saw inside your messy little head, Shimada Genji. I know you hate Overwatch, and all the people in it. Let me live, and I'll help you escape."

"I am no prisoner of Overwatch," Genji snaps. "It is my choice to remain."

"You live inside a tiny room, and you're hooked to machines like a lab rat," Russo murmurs, ignoring McCree's warning steps. "You can't sleep more than a few hours each night. You're forced to eat rabbit food and jump on the commands of men and women who should be listening to _you_. Do you think Talon would treat you the same way? Look at me. Look at the wealth I throw at charities and sick people around the world. Look at how Italy has recovered after the War. Talon has done more for humanity than Overwatch ever will."

"Shut him up already," McCree orders. "Before I do."

Genji... hesitates. He remembers his father debating this same offer years ago. 

Russo ignores McCree and continues to coax Genji instead. "Think on it very carefully," he instructs, nodding. "You know that you deserve more than this. Get rid of that fool, and let's get out of here."

"Very well," Genji replies, and he moves purposefully to McCree, who is staring at him like he's lost his mind. He doesn't move when Genji grabs him by the collar and makes a grab for the gun. 

Russo grins in triumph when Genji shoves McCree off the bridge and turns away before there's even a splash. He grins right up to the point where Genji shoots him in the eye with Peacekeeper. The resulting gore paints the back of some unfortunate person's front door.

Coughing and gasping for breath, McCree resurfaces a second later in the canal to sputter, "The fuck you do that for?"

That is a very good question. "We are still on a sting operation," Genji replies, after hauling the corpse into a dumpster. They'll take care of him after breakfast. "I'm supposed to be on his side, remember?"

"Wh -- okay, but... we need to talk about your aim." He reaches a hand up from the water, and Genji takes it to pull him up. "'Cause no offense, but that was _shit_."

  


* * *

  


**[LOG: 16 APRIL 2069, 01:42]**

"'Scuse us," McCree says to the omnic gondolier politely. "We're a bit lost. Could you take us to the hotel on this map?"

The gondolier looks at the blood on their ruined clothing, then at the tourist map they found in the trash, then back at them. "Certainly," he replies, gesturing for them to sit. 

Genji immediately lies down on the gondola floor and covers his eyes with one arm. The throbbing migraine is back. He can't wait for Moira to extract the virus and spend the next 13 hours trying to replicate it for her own pleasure. 

McCree shakes him slightly. "Can't wait to tell the boss you picked me over fame 'n fortune," he jokes.

"Hah! As if I needed his help getting rich again. I simply don't want the trouble it brings." Genji turns over onto his side, facing away from both passengers. That should signify the end of the conversation, but McCree continues, "'Member how a few months ago you tried to kill me? He's real cute," he insists to the gondolier, who is doing his best not to concentrate on where they are going. "Tries to kill everyone. That's how you know he cares."

Genji attempts to say _I had tried to kill you many times, which instance are you referring to_ , but a yawn overtakes him. Instead, he mumbles, "The mission comes first. I'd never listen to the ramblings of a criminal."

"Ah," says McCree, falling silent for a moment. 

Genji trusts that McCree will wake him before they reach the hotel. It's much easier for him to nap in short bursts than to sleep several hours, and it's doubtful that Reyes will let them sleep before debriefing. He needs all the rest he can get before they reach their destination. 

Evidently McCree thinks the same. He moves to sit down heavily by Genji, stretching his legs and gazing over the water. Genji listens to him breathe, and then cracks open his eyes at McCree's belated reply. "Still. It's fun workin' with you. Woulda been a shame to cut it short so soon."

Genji has to ask, because the thought is too amusing to keep to himself: "Should the day arrive, do you think you could take me in a fight, McCree?"

"Sure," McCree returns, utterly confident. The smirk fades from his voice when he adds, "But I hope I don't have to. We've come pretty far, y'know."

Have they? Genji wonders. He isn't so sure. His trauma counselor tells him things like this all the time, and he's no close to believing Dr. Yee than he is to taking McCree at his word. 

The terrible truth that he'd never admit to McCree, or anyone else for that matter, is that Russo wasn't completely blowing smoke. Because from the bottom of his half-useless heart, he genuinely hates Overwatch, Blackwatch, and every single one of their branches. He can count on one hand the number of people he considers near and almost dear to him. And when he does leave -- and he will -- he will go alone. He's just biding his time until he's ready enough to cut all ties. 

Again. 

One thing is for certain, though: Genji likes the idea of improvement that doesn't come from a bottle or a needle, or the pockets of his father, or the criticisms of his brother. If there is any good in him now, it is worth protecting. However questionable his relationship is with McCree, it is something to be proud of if other people take notice of it. 

He closes his eyes to the quiet sounds of the canal, and meditates for the first time in nine years.

  


* * *

  

    
    
    ACCESSING MEMORY...
    

  
**[LOG: 2 NOVEMBER 2068, 14:17]**

Genji has never seen a combat medic in the field, let alone Sergeant Major Ziegler. He assumed that, as their lifeline and commanding officer, she would stick behind the group and out of a firefight. It made perfect sense in his mind; she was an expensive asset that they could not afford to lose. He did not expect her to pull her gun out unprompted and shoot a man in the face. Nor did he expect her to body slam him when he'd _pretended_ to pull his sword on McCree. 

In a split second Ziegler descends upon Genji with beating wings, stamping on a twitching Talon agent's fingers on the way and breaking them with her heels before he can reach his gun. She disarms Genji as he lifts the Dragonblade, one hand blocking his wrist while the other gets his forearm, locking his elbow and gripping the sword's hilt. Ziegler yanks upward and forces him to let go before the blade is in her grasp. Genji is so floored at the audacity of someone touching his weapon that he doesn't react when she deactivates the retractable blade and flings it harmlessly to the side. It clatters between her and McCree with an air of finality, but Ziegler is not finished. Neither is Genji. They stare at each other, eyes narrowed.

McCree, in the middle of shakingly lighting a cigar, barely rolls out of the way in time when Genji makes a grab for him only to be stopped by a knee to the stomach. As he gasps and keels over, Ziegler takes advantage of his weight and charges him into the alley wall, making sure he hits his cybernetic arm and not his flesh one. The Valkyrie suit absorbs their combined impact and redirects the energy to Ziegler's wings, causing them to spread out with the flair of an enraged bird. This effectively shields McCree from harm.

Genji usually likes pretty girls roughing him up, but this is a rare exception. 

"If I were you, doc, I'd lock him up," drawls McCree at last. His trigger finger twitches at his side; Genji wants so badly to cut it off.

"Did I ask?" Ziegler snaps, and McCree has the gumption to look abashed. "Genji, what are you doing? We're allies!"

"I am tired of his smart mouth," Genji snarls, struggling to break free from her grasp. (He shouldn't be surprised by her suit's enhanced strength -- Ziegler has lifted a fully-armored _Reinhardt Wilhelm_ to an evac shuttle. Captain Amari had lost her composure when she'd seen how wide Genji's eyes were. "Me too, dear," she'd giggled. "That was me, too.")

"You need to control your temper. We have enough to worry about, we don't need our agents turning on each other." Keeping Genji pinned, Ziegler turns her withering glare on McCree, blue eyes burning with fury. "And you -- stop calling him 'the ninja'. His name is Genji. Use it, _cowboy_."

"Yes ma'am," McCree mutters, surly. "Long as he knows he ain't shit and that he's lucky to be with us, and not in the grave." 

"Hope you choke," Genji throws back. Ziegler increases the pressure on him and he growls, "Fine! Get off me!" 

"Get off me, _Sarge_ ," McCree corrects sweetly, trussing up the last Talon goon with the broken hand.

"Are you finished embarrassing yourself?" she demands, and Genji nods. "Good. Both of you get on the shuttle."

Back at HQ, Ziegler is back to her smiling self, tablet pressed to her chest as makes her rounds. There's no fire in her eyes when she knocks on Genji's door and pokes her head into the hospital room, only the gentleness she shows everyone in the ward. "Commander Reyes just caught me in the hall -- he told me you can return to your dorm today," she says. 

Genji stares listlessly at the wall. The sunshine and smell of disinfectant is giving him a headache. "Alone?"

"You will be assigned a new bunk mate eventually, but yes: Alone for now." She sits on the edge of his bed. This is another thing she does unprompted. Ziegler follows his gaze. "Are you upset with me?" she inquires, folding her hands in her lap. 

Odd. It sounds like it's bothering her. "No," he replies honestly.

"You won't look at me."

"I don't want to." 

She snorts. "Fair. You see me enough, I suppose." Ziegler moves to stand and presumably leave, and Genji, seized with sudden panic, reaches for her hand. It is warm and soft, so very unlike his own right hand. She squeezes it without a word, and it is then that Genji notices the time. She should have clocked out an hour ago. 

Three days later it is McCree who reveals himself to be Genji's new bunk mate after the previous one mysteriously vanished, just like his physical therapist. He cheerfully throws his duffel bag onto the top bed and ignores Genji's stare. "Howdy," he greets. "Nice to see your ugly face. What was your name again?"

"Ninja," replies Genji, peevish, wishing he had something in his hands to strangle. He'd destroyed the industrial stress ball that Ziegler gave him just this morning.

"Naw, I'm pretty sure it was Asshole. Well, Asshole-san, I'll see you in the evenin'!"

Reyes must have said something to him, because McCree becomes _aggressively_ friendly to the point of harassment. Genji overhears in the cafeteria that if McCree doesn't like you, he'll call you "darling". _Aw, darlin'_ he must've cooed to Genji at least five times that week alone. 

One night Genji wakes in a pool of sweat and terror, trembling in his bunk and listening wide-eyed for noises outside his door. He thinks he hears his brother, or his father, or one of his uncles. His stomach threatens to expel what little he'd eaten that day and he apparently makes a sound, because McCree sleepily answers, "Whozzit?"

There is ice in Genji's lungs and glass shards in his belly. He is going to be sick. He needs to get out of here, but there is nowhere for him to go. He is dead on paper and alive only in name. He'd be shot on sight if he tried to go home. 

He yanks the blanket over his head and curls up, legs tucked against his stomach and head against his knees. Perhaps if he stays quiet, McCree will go back to sleep. Because there is no justice in the world, McCree descends the ladder and yawns loudly. "You alright?" he asks. There is no light in the room, so Genji doesn't know how close he is, but still he scoots away until his back hits the wall. 

"Do I need to call the doc?" He can hear the frown in McCree's voice. He shakes his head violently. _Go away_ , he thinks. Genji almost misses his other bunk mate.

"Alright," McCree says hesitantly. "Uh, can I get you a... water or somethin'?"

To shut him up, Genji croaks, "Yes," and McCree is out of the room in a flash. It is odd to hear him move without the incessant jingling of spurs. 

He returns quickly and flicks on the light, and even though Genji is hidden beneath the blanket, he's still put off by the brightness. It makes him think too much of a room far away, of lights rushing toward him before he's engulfed in spectral flames. 

McCree places the glass on the bedside table with a _plink_ , expecting Genji to take the glass. He does not. 

The bed suddenly shifts to accommodate additional weight as McCree sits down next to Genji. "So, when I was like, sixteen," he starts, "I worked at this diner on Route 66. Ever heard of that place?"

Genji does not answer. McCree continues, "It's one of those real shitty lil mom'n'pop diners that shoulda closed down _decades_ ago, but the food's cheap and it's a tourist trap, ridin' on the coattails of history. So I bused tables for extra cash. They didn't make me wear a uniform 'cause I didn't have money for nice clothes and I was runnin' with the Deadlocks. Tryin' to be cool. Look at lil Jesse McCree, he can shoot a gun but he can't read. I tried gettin' away a few times, and this job was one of 'em. Thought I was gonna make it, too.

"So one night there's this guy with his boyfriend or his cousin or whatever and they're talkin' about leavin' without payin'. Now I done it before too, but I worked there, and they'd be robbin' _me_. I couldn't let _that_ stand."

Some of the nausea had subsided by the time McCree launched into his story, so Genji pokes his head out from under the blanket and shakingly points at the glass of water. McCree hands it to him, and makes a face when some of it sloshes down Genji's chin and onto the pillow. McCree carefully pulls it over to him before Genji resumes lying on it, and he flips it over onto the dry side. Genji lets his head fall back down. 

"What did you do?" he mutters, because McCree is looking for a captive audience and won't shut up until he has one.

He beams at Genji, pleased. "Told my boss. He came out there demandin' they pay or he'll call the cops, and I felt real good for once in my life. And then the boyfriend pulls a knife on my boss, and I see his tattoo -- he's Deadlock. I get in between 'em, get cut down, and the fuckers run off while I'm bleedin' everywhere and the old man is callin' an ambulance. I lived, of course. And I got fired a week later 'cause I robbed the same old man."

Genji squints at him. "Why?" he asks slowly. Why go through all that effort, then?

McCree guffaws. "He'd been skimpin' on his payments to the landlord, and on my wages, too. He kept my tips. Turns out the Deadlock guy who knifed me wanted to teach me a lesson about not trustin' anyone, and that I belonged with them. So I went back after that."

"I don't understand why you're telling me this." Genji had fully expected a lesson about opening up to people and doing the right thing, not... this.

"Mm. I dunno. Thought you might want a bedtime story. You feelin' better?" McCree asks, grinning. 

Genji does. He's not sure it has anything to do with a reminder that everyone in the world is out for themselves, though. The water definitely helped. He shifts, crawls over to the side of the bed and swings his legs over it, staring pensively at the floor. McCree clears his throat. "Yeah?" he prompts.

"I guess." Genji's stomach is still a little unsettled, and he feels warmer than before. When he lifts a hand to rub his eyes, he freezes at the unsolicited touch to his back; McCree had moved forward until they were sitting side by side and carefully pressed his fingertips right below Genji's remaining shoulder. No living human has touched him since he'd been revived except Ziegler and her team of nurses. Even Reyes doesn't clap him on the back the way he does with his other agents. 

At first, Genji appreciated the avoidance. He didn't mind that people would move to the opposite side of the hallway when he prowled through HQ -- he relished it. He liked the fear and discomfort he saw in their eyes, the fact that no one wanted to accidentally brush against him.

But even that novelty wore off after a while, and loneliness started to creep in. He is, after everything that's been done to him, damnably human. 

Genji closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of skin on skin, and tries to will away the sickening fear that wells up in his throat. Not all touch is bad, he tells himself. Not all touch leads to pain.

McCree, positive now that Genji isn't going to dislocate his arm, slowly runs his hand down the center of Genji's back, then back up, and repeats. Up, and down. Up, and down. The feedback is odd, because McCree starts at Genji's skin and moves down metal plating. He never touches Genji's neck, and avoids the more tender burn areas on his body. It takes a few seconds for Genji to realize he is being -- comforted. McCree is being... kind. He is showing Genji kindness. 

What a strange concept. He hasn't done anything to warrant the gesture, has been contemptuous and cruel in the face of genuine politeness on McCree's part. He suspects that Ziegler only puts up with him because she is getting paid for it. 

And yet he thinks back to every instance that made him doubt the wise rule his family taught him: Nothing in this world is free, not even kindness.

It is a fallacy. It is expecting blood ties to be as strong as stone. It is being cut down by a brother's sword for the crime of embarrassing him, and then getting burned alive because you're not dying fast enough. Your brother watches and only leaves when you have stopped screaming, satisfied with his work. To him, it is a kindness that you die by his hand and no one else's. 

Genji considers the two people at Overwatch who have caused him to ponder if his family has been full of shit all this time. 

Ziegler shows kindness by going home late because a patient needs her company, even if they're unappreciative about it. McCree shows kindness by rubbing the back of a malfunctioning war machine, gentle and nonjudgmental, the way you do for a loved one. 

Genji shows kindness by throwing up on the floor and not on McCree. 

"Aw, sweetheart," McCree sighs, slinging an arm around Genji as he dry heaves. "S'alright. I'ma get a mop." 

\-- 

Genji can't remember a time he woke up feeling rested. He thinks that's a myth perpetrated by people with whole minds and bodies. 

The room is deathly quiet. He rubs his eyes and is about to yawn when his enhanced senses kick in and he's extremely aware that someone is in the bed with him. _Hyper-vigilant_ , Ziegler had told him once. _When you've been through hell, you become hyper-vigilant. You're afraid of getting hurt again, so you can't help but notice every little thing that may or may not harm you._

Genji remains still. He slows his breathing until it's barely detectable. The hairs on the back of his neck raise, he slowly moves his hand to get his knife from within the pillow case -- and then he hears a familiar, sleepy grunt that instantly relaxes him. It is McCree. He did not, as expected, return to his top bunk. He stayed up until Genji had passed out. 

Which means that Genji had been vulnerable to this man for hours, starting from the moment he allowed McCree to touch him to...

He rolls over onto his back, hesitant, and sees that McCree is lying with his back to him. He's facing the wall and the window that Genji promised to board up one of these days. He is snoring quietly. Either the blanket slipped off of him during the night or he tucked Genji in, which is an idea he's having trouble processing. 

There is... there is a stupid amount of risk in what McCree has done. Letting your opponent see your back is either a power play or an act of stupidity. He's not sure which this qualifies as. Perhaps it is neither. 

Perhaps, says the tiny voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Ziegler, it is trust.

Genji takes his empty hand out from the pillow case and looks to the ceiling. The sun is rising, and with it warm light that will soon fill the dorm and brighten up HQ, putting a spring in everyone's step. Genji cannot outrun the sunshine, so he should try something else.

He turns his back to McCree again.

**Author's Note:**

> d2 is my lifeblood now, but i return momentarily to ovw to drop this because undercover tropes are my fuckin kryptonite


End file.
